We Are But Bound
by AwesomeAstronaut
Summary: Hetalia/Sherlock X-over. No implied pairings. John and Sherlock find a blond American teenager who can't remember everything but there seems to be something strange about him. Bad summary is bad. I try.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson enjoyed taking walks. They allowed him to think and get away from his flat mate who was currently preoccupying himself with ranting about anything and everything to stave off his boredom. It's not that he didn't like Sherlock but the man could become completely unbearable when he didn't have anything to keep him distracted. It had been a week since their last case was concluded and the man was beginning to drive him mad.

As John walked on he stumbled and found himself faced with a limp body crumpled on the ground. His instincts as a doctor kicking in, he immediately checked for a pulse and was dismayed to discover that there was none. The body turned out to be that of a young man, barely even in his twenties, with blond hair now caked with partially dried blood. Now he knows he should have probably called the police but against his better judgement he called Sherlock who picked up quite quickly.

"What is it John? It better be interesting." said the thoroughly agitated man upon picking up.

"Well, it's a body. Quite young too." John answered, feeling a pang of pity for the young soul.

"Really now? Unnatural death? Where are you?"

"I was taking a walk. I'm near the park and the body is off to the side away from the path." As John gave his flat mate the directions he noticed movement from near the body. He turned and even though he knew Sherlock was rambling the words were blocked out by a sudden realization.

The body was breathing.

When he finally got over his shock he could hear Sherlock trying to get his attention through the phone. "S-sorry... We may not have a body after all..."

"I'll be there soon." With that said there was a click as his partner hung-up.

Around ten minutes later the awaited for consultant detective arrived and looked at the young man on the ground. "He's breathing."

"I noticed that." John replied. "When I found him he was cold to the touch and had no pulse but now he's breathing and has a fairly normal body temperature."

Sherlock walked closer to the not-actually-a-corpse taking in various details. "Young. Probably nineteen or twenty but the suit suggests otherwise. Fancy but well-worn and obviously used on a regular basis. Threadbare around the coughs indicated that he has to sit for long amounts of time but does not enjoy staying still. The degree of the wear is equal on both cuffs so it would seem that he is ambidextrous. His calloused hands show signs of lifelong manual labor." As the detective moved to check the pockets of the young man for any identification there was a flash of movement and the steel barrel of a gun pressed to his temple.

"Thirty-two caliber, American made, steady grip... You seem quite used to using guns." There was fear apparent in the young man's blue eyes as he lowered the gun and cast his gaze away. "Expecting someone else?"

"S-sorry..." The young mans American accent was clear despite the softness of his voice and his body language showed confusion. "Where am I...?"

* * *

"Where the bloody hell is that annoying sod?!" Arthur grumbled as he paced in Mycroft's office. "I've been waiting for two hours and he still hasn't shown up!"

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his head to ease his slowly developing headache, courtesy of the green-eyed man's yelling. "It's not exactly strange for him to be late Arthur..."

"It's disrespectful is what it is! He's been late but this is unacceptable and he's not even answering his damned phone!"

"Please calm down. He might have fallen asleep. We both know he hates flying if he's not the pilot and gets very distraught."

"He could have called. That ungrateful little bastard." Arthur continued to grumble.

"Please, just go home and relax. I'm sure he will turn up tomorrow and if not we can find him."

"Fine." Arthur said as he gathered up his supplies and left the building, still mumbling under his breath about "stupid American"s and "annoying git"s.

The night sky was spotted with clouds that blocked out the few stars that could be seen due to the lights of the city. Shadows made by the street lamps stretched along the path as he walked onward, through the streets of London. He knew Mycroft had a point but he wasn't going to let Alfred just show up whenever he fancied. It was disrespectful and he had raised him better than that.

However, there was also a small persistent knot of worry nagging at him. He _did_ raise America better than that and if he didn't show up tomorrow there was probably more to it than just the teen's usual forgetfulness. He was obnoxious and ridiculous at times but he wasn't insincere. It just wasn't in his nature to be spiteful towards people.

Upon arriving home, England sunk into his chair with a book and hoped to read his worries away. Hoped that everything was alright and he would be interrupted by a happy-go-lucky blond. Hoped that he was just overreacting.

Wishes don't come true though.

* * *

**Sorry for a short first chapter but the others will be longer. Also, the name is based off of "Silent Spring" by Massive Attack.**


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Sherlock continued his rant from earlier now that they were back inside of 221B Baker Street, "you have no idea who you are or why you are here and you were dead for what was probably around an hour. But now we know who you are because the ID in the wallet had your picture and was obviously American like your accent. You are very interesting."

"Uh... What exactly is going on?" The blond, identified as Alfred F. Jones, asked.

"Don't worry, Sherlock is just a bit strange. He's trying to figure out who you are and why you were attacked." John explained.

"Not completely true. If it were a normal person I wouldn't care but you do not seem normal so I do have some interest in you. So, if you wouldn't mind, take off your clothes. Actually, take them off if you do mind."

Of course, Alfred reacted as any person would and gave Sherlock a confused look. "My clothes...?"

"Don't give me that. You can keep on your trousers, I'm only interested in the suit."

"Oh, okay then." Alfred began to take of his suit's jacket and eventually his shirt revealing a well built, tanned body with various scars. This immediately caught the attention of both John and Sherlock who looked on at the various white marks across the otherwise unblemished skin.

"Quite the record on your skin..." John commented as he tried to find the reasons for each of the scars. "Most of them seem fairly old too."

"Here." Sherlock said, pulling a veteran ID out of the wallet. "Alfred Franklin Jones, 19 year of age, Air Force. Still doesn't explain why you were wearing business attire. Especially with the way you can't seem to hold still." Said American was fidgeting in his seat as John cleaned the blood from his head. "You obviously wear the suit very often but don't enjoy wearing it and I don't blame you. And now there are the scars. You could of only been in the military for a year or so but the scars are older than that and many of them seem to be battle wounds."

"Sherlock," John said as he finished cleaning away the blood, "you may want to have a look at this."

"What is it?" Sherlock demanded as he strode over to see what his colleague was insisting. "Oh..."

"Yes, oh. There's no wound here any more. How can that be possible? It was there when I found him."

"And there's also the suit..."

"What about the suit Sherlock?"

"It was raining before you found our American guest her. However, the suit is only partially wet. The sleeves, the sides, and the back are dry but the center of the torso is wet which means he was wearing a jacket. Now where is the jacket?"

* * *

Arthur was working in his house when he received the package. The brown box was inconspicuous enough with the typical labels only lacking a return address. The contents were far from normal though. Once he had opened the box Arthur had to keep himself from letting out a sob.

Inside was Alfred's leather bomber jacket, now splattered with dried blood, and beside it was a piece of paper with a short printed note. "WHERE OH WHERE IS MR. JONES?" Was the taunting message that made Arthur's blood run cold. He felt sick and grasped at the wall beside him to keep from falling.

After his shock wore off he marched into Mycroft's office and threw down the offending package onto his desk. "What the bloody hell is this?!"

"Please calm down Mr. Kirkland-" Mycroft began before he was cut off.

"Don't give me that! What is this?!"

"It's Moriarty. A recent adversary to my brother and I."

"What has he done to Alfred?"

"I do not know. Judging from the contents of the message I would say that he was taken and the jacket is probably an add on to the jest."

At this Arthur swore and slammed his hands down on the desk. "How can he be holding a superpower, especially someone like Alfred, captive?!"

"I do not know. I am starting to feel like a skipping disk."

"Well, why don't you do something about it!"

"I am far too busy to deal with such matters. Why don't you pester my brother about it? He enjoys things such as this."

* * *

Meanwhile, at 221B Baker Street, Alfred was sitting in the bathroom as the hair dye set. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Someone tried to kill you from what we've been able to tell you are very important to some very important people. So, to make things more interesting we're going to change the way you look. They're looking for a blond so now you're going to have dark hair." Sherlock explained.

"It's just a precaution." John added. He knew his flatmate was not the most reassuring person.

"Oh. Okay." The veteran also couldn't help but notice how accepting the American seemed of everything they told him.

"Are you alright?"

"Um. Yeah. I think so... It's just a bit overwhelming, ya know? All I remember is waking up in the wet and cold. Next thing I know I'm holding a gun to your friend's head... It's just crazy..." He trailed off.

"I can understand the confusion."

"Can you? I don't even know who I am. Not really. There is so _much_ in my head but I don't know where any of it came from. I can tell you all about astrophysics and economic science but I don't know _why__. _I don't know a thing about my personal life. Not even my favorite color. Hell, blue looks nice but I don't know why I think that." Alfred paused for a moment and took a ragged breath, his expression reminded John of the many young soldiers who realized that the battle wasn't worth it. "I'm lost John..."

As Alfred looked away John was surprised to hear a strangled sob but then he realized he shouldn't be surprised. Alfred was only a teenager after all. "I promise you Alfred, Sherlock and I will do what we can to help you."

"Thanks." Alfred replied as he wiped he's eyes and calmed his breathing. "I appreciate it."

"Of course. Just don't be intimidated by Sherlock. He's a bit hard to understand but he means well. Most of the time." John explained before standing. "Well, I believe you have let the dye set long enough. Go ahead and take a shower, there are new clothes for you on the shelf."

After leaving the bathroom, John walked into the living room to find Sherlock messing with his laptop. Not like that was anything new. "I take it our guest is washing up." Sherlock stated more than asked.

"Why are you tampering with my stuff again?" John asked. This common occurrence was annoying after the first time much less the fiftieth time.

"Because, my stuff is too hard to get to and they can't trace it back to me if I use yours."

"I swear Sherlock, if you get me arrested again I will shoot you."

"Sure sure. I'm not very concerned."

"But I am."

"Yes, but you're an idiot."

"That's what they told Albert Einstein." Alfred stated as he walked towards the living room, his hair now a brownish black color. "And now he is known in history for his groundbreaking discoveries in the world of physics."

"You look different. It would seem that our goal was achieved and the clothes fit you. Well, the longer you remain undiscovered gives me more time to figure out everything."

"Cool. So what should I do?"

"That depends. What can you do?"

* * *

**I got a way bigger response to this than I ever expected. Seriously. You guys blew up my email. I really appreciate all the support from you guys and sorry for the wait. I had to finish summer homework that I thought was due later than it actually was. I'll try to update sooner next time but i can't promise anything. Also, I'm an American so feel free to correct me on any British-isms.**


	3. Chapter 3

"My question," John began, "is what you are doing with my computer, Sherlock."

"Trying to find information on our guest. Unfortunately, whether it be your name or an alias, Alfred Jones is quite common." Sherlock answered.

"Alfred F. Jones." Was the comment. However, it was ignored.

"We can use the normalcy of your name to our advantage though." After giving the teenage blond a look he continued, "We'll have to get rid of those glasses too. Get you contacts."

"Thanks?" Alfred replied awkwardly. How was he supposed to respond to a comment like that?

Before they could come to a decision on their next move, a decisive knock came at the door. After ushering the American into John's room they allowed their new guest in, who happened to be a blond man with a perpetual scowl on his face and jade eyes.

"Sherlock lives here, correct?"

"Yes. That would be me." Sherlock said as he analyzed the man before him. For one, he was obviously a government official which would mean he was sent by Mycroft but there was obvious signs of other things. He gave off strange signals quite similar to a particular Alfred F. Jones.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland and-"

"You lost someone. Again. And quite recently too it would seem. The same person? I would assume so. And if you are seeking my help then you must be personally attached to this individual."

"Belt up. I didn't come to have my life story reiterated at me. Your brother is being lazy per usual and pointed me in your direction." Arthur scowled at the detective with his arms crossed. "So if we could get on with it then let's."

"So, I presume you want me to find this missing person?" Sherlock said, prepared for a boring story like his usual clients would ramble off.

"No. I want to find the person that might have killed them. I am aware of the fact that you are acquainted with Jim Moriarty." Arthur stated, his tone firm and even.

"That I am. And you are sure this person is dead?" Sherlock analyzed the guest silently. There was obviously something he was hiding but he couldn't place his finger on it at the moment.

"That's not important. It is important, however, that I find out why he was targeted and possibly murdered." He was a father too. That much was obvious. Owns one cat, does needlework, plays bass, accustomed to manual labor, proud Englishman, well traveled, but that was all on the surface. There was something he was missing. Something deeper.

"People are murdered all the time. What is particularly important about this murder?" Sherlock asked. Maybe he would be able to get more information if he prodded the right areas.

"He was my closest friend."

"I'm sure..." Sherlock responded. Obviously this person was more than a close friend. Perhaps a friend with benefits or maybe even a lover.

"Just do your bloody job and find me his killer." Arthur said. "Notify your brother when you wish for me to return. Hopefully he will deign it important enough to tell me."

"Good day Mr. Kirkland. We will meet again." Sherlock said his farewell as the Briton left the flat and John ushered Alfred back to my living room. "Someone is quite interested in you. I would prefer to figure out your predicament myself before getting involved in any outside interference though."

"Shouldn't you let that Kirkland fellow know, if they are close? It would give Alfred a better chance of regaining his memory." John commented.

"Possibly. I would prefer to know all the facts before I give up my largest lead in the event that there is more to this then Kirkland is telling us." Sherlock explained. He intended on finding on finding out exactly what was going and he knew the perfect place to start.

* * *

Jim Moriarty always enjoyed the success of a good murder. It was a quick, easy way to stave of his boredom for a moment longer and if it just so happened to cause problems for the Holmes boys then all the better. However, his latest murder had been unexpectedly derailed when the victim had turned out to still be alive.

Normally, if he heard that his murder attempt had been unsuccessful he would just have the person shot and cut off any loose ends but this circumstance called for a very different solution. He had been payed a handsome sum to dispatch a certain young American and it had been taken care of beautifully if he didn't say so himself. One sniper, one bullet to the head, one American corpse in a pool of blood, one less person walking on the planet, one less moment of boredom.

But now the "dead' American was up and walking around.

He wasn't sure whether he should be angry or upset so he just settled on excited. Finally! Another person he could use to stave off his boredom! However, young Alfred F. Jones was found by none other than Dr. John Watson and was now taking up residency at 221B Baker Street. If Moriarty wanted to find an effective solution to his boredom then he would have to get Jones away from the Virgin and into his own hands.

After all, it wasn't every day that one had the opportunity to get their hands on someone who had just come back from the dead, and with no memory. That was almost like a bonus. Now his main concern was on how to go about this particular endeavor and preferably in a way that would let him snatch the American right from under Sherlock's nose.

There were various ways he could go about this: bribing a police officer for when they visited DI Lestrade (which they would), disappearance in a crowd, poison and taking the body, just a good old kidnapping, so many choices! And he was looking forward to finding out whatever was making Jones tick.

* * *

**I apologize for the long wait and the relatively short update but I have so much homework all the time and I wanted to make sure I knew where this was going. I know it's a poor excuse but please forgive me. I couldn't find any inspiration originally but then I read all the amazing reviews you guys kept leaving me and I just had to update for you guys. I hope to make the next chapter longer and I wanted this one to be longer but it wouldn't have worked out very well. Thank you and sorry!**


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